i will have sex with anyone who is nice to me
(+ other concerning things i’ve told my therapist), + your weekly poem/song
cw // sex, brief references to suicidality
“If my friends ask nicely, I will kiss them,” I tell my therapist. “There are very few people I love who haven’t seen me at least a little naked.”
Before I understood the gravity of someone else’s touch, sex was something of a game to me. In undergrad, the boys in the dorm across the street had a list of places they hoped to fuck before the end of the year, and I was more than happy to help them meet their goals. In the bookstore parking garage? Check. On a piano in the music hall practice rooms? I’ll deny it. In the chapel? Couldn’t ever get past the chaplain.
I snuck in and out of the dorms past curfew, darted under some boy’s unwashed comforter when his roommate walked in to see me topless, and traded my body for a few hits of shitty weed. Failed my 8 AM psychology final because I couldn’t fall asleep in a stranger's bed. Never left a “wyd?” text unanswered.
“Some of these experiences are a double-edged sword,” my therapist says. “It seems like you definitely felt empowered to explore and experiment, and you may have even found pleasure in some of those experiences. Also, some of those experiences probably shouldn’t have happened.”
My therapist is referencing one specific hookup, one that I mention in passing but never in detail, one that probably should’ve been reported to the authorities. Talking about it — especially writing about it — comes with an abundance of fear and hesitation, mainly because of how conflicted I felt — feel — about it. So when I talk about and write about it, I still censor the story. I write as if it never happened.
During the spring semester of my freshman year of college, my peak slut and peak depression years, I met an almost 30-year-old man on Tumblr (as one did in 2014). My last suicide attempt was three months prior, and I’d recently decided that if I were to stay alive, I didn’t want to be a doctor and wanted to change my major to writing. I was coping with the chaos in the best way I knew how — by making other people feel good: hooking up with almost anyone who wanted to.
I have never felt more adult than when I was 18. Now, at 29, I feel more like a teenager than ever before, yet I’m not even remotely tempted to hook up with someone who isn’t at least 26. It took time, aging, and hindsight to help me realize that it was not okay for this Tumblr man, who worked for the university I attended*, to ask me, a teenager, to meet up.
But, he was kind. He called me beautiful and smart. He wanted me, and who was I to deny him that pleasure? In the dead of the night, he picked me up from my dorm in a campus golf cart and took me to his office*. He was strong, patient, and generous, and reminded me that it was okay to let someone else make me feel good. After we did what we did, I returned to my dorm and slept better than I had in weeks.
“There’s no reason a grown man should’ve pursued a teenager,” my therapist validates when I realize the complexity of the situation. “But I hear you when you say that it doesn’t feel bad because you didn’t get hurt.”
“It was the first time I remember feeling like I had autonomy in sex,” I respond.
“There was also a wild power dynamic at play,” they remind me. “We should probably define ‘hurt.’”
I’ve spent a lot of time unpacking why it felt like the first time I had autonomy over my body was when it was praised by a man who, if I’d met him just one year earlier, would have been considered a predator. Sex can be a way to reclaim your body in the same way that it can be a quick way to lose it. Looking back, it feels like I achieved both that day — I allowed myself to feel good, and I was consumed entirely by a man who wanted something young and vulnerable.
I think a lot about my 18-year-old self, who wanted nothing more than to be wanted and would patiently wait for anyone who asked them to. There was a fine line between liberation and self-harm, between pleasure and danger. For all the experiences that I consented to, I can’t say I regret them. It was fun to feel something, to let someone feel my body, and to help others feel something because of what my body could do.
But today, sometimes I still feel sore from the work it took to walk that tightrope and not fall onto the wrong side of the bed. I kiss my husband and my friends and remind myself that it is okay to give myself to others as long as I remember to keep parts of myself for myself, too.
(*saying alleged, but like… u know)
your poem rec:
:: Searching for My Own Body :: by Yesenia Montilla
your song rec:
(i was 18 but it still hits !!!)
all the love, all the warmth, all the light,
housekeeping:
icymi: i made a doc full of book recommendations for people who want to read more poetry but don’t know where to start!
don’t forget to complete your one click today to support aid efforts in Palestine
unfold: poetry + prose, is available on amazon, bookshop, indigo, b&n, or wherever you get books <3
you can still buy paper girl from amazon, barnes & noble, indigo, or your local indie.
i love you. and i see you. and i am so glad you're here.
who i am: a writer, a lover, and a very Black + queer person. i love deeply, forget rarely, and spend most of my time cuddling with my dog, my cat, and my partner.
who i'm not: a therapist, mental health professional, or emergency service. i love hearing the stories of your experiences, but please don't send explicit or triggering details of your story without my prior consent.
if you're in crisis, please call 911 or use any of the following resources:
National Suicide Prevention Hotline: 988
National Domestic Violence Hotline: 1-800-799-SAFE (7233)
Crisis Text Line: Text HELP to 741741
S.A.F.E. (Self Abuse Finally Ends): 1-800-DONT-CUT (366-8288)
Eating Disorders Awareness and Prevention: 1-800-931-2237
RAINN (Rape, Abuse, & Incest National Network): 1-800-656-4673
The Trevor Project: 1-866-488-7386
So beautiful and deeply relatable. it’s always difficult when depression is intertwined with hyper sexuality — it creates such mixed memories and I struggle with the decisions I made (or wasn’t able to make) when I didn’t want to be here
❤️❤️❤️